Torture Sex makes me wet. Ever since I was a young girl watching slasher and horror films I knew that I would never be a Nicolas Sparks kind of chick. In fact, his movies, like “The Notebook,” make me homicidal. I lost a bet when that movie came out. I was just a teen school girl then, a goth girl with few friends, much like today. After the movie, I wanted to punch kittens and stuff, but I like animals way too much, so I took my aggression out on some pussy instead. There was this insipid girl sitting behind me in the theater. Perfect hair; perfect nails; perfect boyfriend; perfect bitch.
I followed her after the show, until I knew she was alone. Drugged her with some chloroform, dragged her back to my place, threw her in the basement and waited for her to wake up to play. I had her naked on a table, bright lights blinding her. I had my own private torture chamber. I still do, just now it has grown, become even a darker, more twisted place. I affixed mouse traps to her pussy lips and pulled them as far to the side as I could. I had fun sticking hat pins in her clit; fucking her with metal rods; burning her cunt with cigarettes…. The best was jabbing her uterus with an ice pick. To say it made me hot to ruin her girl parts would be a gross understatement. I was wet, but I wanted to get off harder. I put a chain around her neck and rigged it so there would be a chain hook attached to her worthless pussy too.
As I hoisted her in the air, the chain pulled and tugged at her clit, eventually yanked it right off. Blood spurted from a hole that was once associated with pleasure. Her screams, her tears, her blood got me so wet that I had to touch myself. I came so hard knowing I had mutilated her junk. The more she pleaded and begged and asked why, the harder I rubbed myself. I even squirted on her. When I let her down, her pussy was so mangled it looked like raw hamburger meat. I wore a mask and with the lights, I knew she could never identify me. I resisted the urge to snuff her out. I left her alone on the table sobbing in pain and fear for a few minutes. I returned with my sewing kit and a rat. Her pussy was gaping open so I shoved the rat deep inside her, then stitched her worthless cunt up so the rodent would gnaw and scratch its way out.
I tossed her naked, tortured body along the highway then went home to do my schoolwork. The next day I got off again reading about the random act of violence against a local socialite in the newspaper. This was my first foray into torture sex, but certainly not my last. Bonus, now every time someone mentions that awful movie “The Notebook”, I get wet remembering my first torture sex. Not enough to make me endure it again, however.
He comes to me wrought with desire. Our needs are in sync as always. The straight lines of the young body not yet developed and so innocent. We feel the desire burning inside of us to touch them. The admiration so deep that we are practically drooling over them. Using a calm and soothing voice I urge him to fulfill his need for soft young flesh. As soon as he touches her it is as if her flesh sears his hand and the burning desire moves up his arm and into his groin. His rape phone sex fantasies are so vivid that he can feel his dick pushing into her, stretching her, until she has completely encased his dick with in her. I cover her mouth so that she can not scream but the tears are flowing freely down her face. All the while I tell him it is OK. This is not bad it is good for all of us. I take his hand and place it on her nipple urging him to pinch and pull it while he pounds deeper into her, so close to exploding. He will plant his seed deep with in her and soon she will be swollen and ready to give us a gift that we will cherish together.
